


Robert

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Not really spoilerish, S9 Magnum Opus, Takes place sometime before Magnum Opus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I make bad decisions.  That, if nothing else, is established.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robert

Beside the Cherwell, the sun low in the sky. He has buried his face in the fabric of my jacket and I, hand soft on his head, watch the horizon on a bend in the river and feel the planet tilt toward winter.

“We have to stop this,” I say.

“Stop what?” Muffled reply.

“It’s not fair on Laura. Not on any of us.”

He pulls back from me.

“We’re not doing anything.”

“James.”

“We’re not. You’re stroking my hair. It’s hardly Brokeback Mountain.”

“It’s more than that to me. You turn me inside out, James. But I’ve got to commit to Laura. I want to.”

An unexpected weekday off and James decides to take a boat out. No Attaway Hathaway he; just an idle downstream drift until we stop at this secluded spot. Where I hold him; my James, denim and cotton, for the last time. Where all is silent but for the lap of current and the chastising song of a bird.

“You’re right,” he finally says, turning out of my reach, sitting up. “I know you’re right.”

“It’s not because –“

“I know. It was my courage that failed, not yours, never yours.”

“We are who we are, James.”

Pocket-patting produces cigarettes and deft-fingered smoker’s rituals, the kiss and inhale.

He glances back and catches me watching him, catches me in some naked expression of need and his gaze softens.

He asks me, “So what are we now?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not Inspector and Sergeant anymore. Are we just two people who share an office, a pint, an occasional murder? Friends.”

This last dripping with venom.

“Do we have to put a name to it? Mr Don’t-label-me.”

He lies back again to finish the cigarette, “That’s Inspector Don’t-label-me.”

I watch the working of his Adam’s apple and want to kiss the stubbled skin beneath his chin.

If he hadn’t backed away.

If he hadn’t backed away I could have made him mine, hard edges and knotted soul all. One word from him, just one word.

“The other lad I was in love with,” I begin.

“Jeffrey,” he says solemnly.

“Hush, people used to be called Jeffrey all the time. He hated the name Robbie.”

“A bit rich from a Jeff. What did he call you? Not Bob.”

“He called me Robert, he was the only one who ever did?”

“Did you mind?”

“I liked it.”

With James I never have to explain. “Because it was him. Because it was a message only you would understand.”

“Anyone listening would think he was taking the piss, but I knew.”

He tries out ‘Robert’, testing it for salt and sweetness. It is fat and round and Shakespearean on his tongue.

“I liked it when you used to call me Jim,” he says. “No one ever thought of it before.”

“You glared at me so I stopped.”

“I make bad decisions. That, if nothing else, is established.”

He turns on to his side to face me and parts of me, the lawless outposts of my empire, reach for him. He folds himself back into the shelter of my jacket.

Whispering one word, just one word; sending its lonely message on multiple journeys through the roads and junctions of my heart.

End

 

November 2015


End file.
